


Strange

by Dizzy_Eyre



Category: Legend (2015)
Genre: Blackmail, Consent Issues, M/M, Rimming, Violence, Voyeurism, carpet beater, not even remotely hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzy_Eyre/pseuds/Dizzy_Eyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boothby arseholed on G and Ts and gunning for me, giving it “Ohhh my boy, I do hope I wasn’t the indirect cause of the, ah, disciplinary proceedings...”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange

Me picking my way towards the kitchen like a new foal thinking _whiskey first_ and I practically bounce off him. Boothby, arseholed on G and Ts and giving it “Ohhh my boy, I do hope I wasn’t the indirect cause of the, ah, disciplinary proceedings...”

He’d just love it if I swung for him or told him to go fuck himself wouldn’t he so I go the other way. Look at his shoes and say “I can’t talk to you, he’ll...” Sniffle a bit. Fucking tropical in here for obvious reasons but I hug myself and rub my hands up and down my arms. Biceps. Him having a look and panting out his queeny stink of gin and fags.

“Then I’ll talk to him.”

“No!”

“On your behalf –”

Put a hand out to stop him. Oh yeah. Poor Teddy plucking at his raiment.“Please, my Lord.”

“Teddy,” he says, half-laughing, half panicked. I’m not playing properly, am I. Big wet worried eyes. Face like – well, like a smacked arse. Not his cup of tea at all. Thing is though, there’s what he wants and what he wants. Rough trade. Throw a stone in here you’ll hit it. I could give it all that and he’d chuckle and move on. But _t his_Teddy, mushy, hiding his teeth behind a lip he’s in serious fucking danger of tripping over, that’s a novelty, innit. That’s a bit of strange.

“Teddy you don’t have to – here – Bob, please.”

“Bob. He’ll go spare. Again.”

“Alright. As you like. Not a word. But, ah, he does appear to be distracted now –”

I look over my shoulder. Yeah, you could describe that as distracted.

“So perhaps...?” he nods towards the corridor. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 

Couple of cheap cuts in the spare bedroom who piss off when I tell them to. Boothby shuts the door.

I get my kecks down in front of the mirror. _You are going to look very interesting_ , Ron had said slowly, _for a while_ , and he was right. My bum coming up seven shades of jam, all loops and curls like a signature. An autograph. One proper nasty welt low on my thigh, that one where I yelled and bloody near tipped the table over. Everyone fucking tittering, the bloke in the wicker chair with a sarky _aw, I shall cry_ and Ron saying _now now dear, we mustn’t mollycoddle the little cunt_ , whack, whack, whack.

Boothby is banging on about school and the cane and how they’d show each other, afterwards. His gob going like a carp over my shoulders.

“On your knees,” he whispers but it’s a question, a favour. “On the bed I mean. On all fours.” There’s a pile of coats on the bed. Whoever’s they are they must want ‘em to get spunked on. Carry it around all day tomorrow. Close to their hearts. Wouldn’t be the weirdest peccafuckingdillo here by a long chalk.

I get so I’m facing the headboard. That oughta be alright. Damp breath down my spine and his giant-baby hands, kneading me. It barely hurts – I mean my arse is up in flames still, but he isn’t making it hurt any more. I try to think his hands into Ron’s. Doesn’t work cos he won’t shut up, his voice low and hot –

“I couldn’t help but overhear. Him upbraiding you.” Made his night that has. The idea of him mattering enough to come between me and Ron, turn my head, get me walloped. Himself at sixty-something, still a bone of contention.

“You see,” he goes on, and fucking on, “I’ve never seen the sense in denying oneself. One’s urges. But where other people get hurt on that account, it makes me feel just awful. Seeing you, now. Hurt.” His palms spread my cheeks. “It nudges me towards atonement...”

And then there’s an old-man grunt, creaking knees and floorboards and then –

His tongue. Blimey. That can’t be good for the health.

Right up me, it is. Soothing. I’m still sore inside from earlier. Thought Ron might be sweeter after a good fuck. And sure enough, straight afterwards he was smiling, but as the party went on, get close enough to him you’d see your fucking breath in the air. I steered clear. Probably made it worse. Prolonged it.

And yeah, Boothby, he’s always at these. I might of smiled. Might of waved. Might of turned away from the drinks table and brushed up against Ron who was just sort of all of a sudden there. He was having a pickled onion. He had taken it off its cocktail stick and was rolling it between finger and thumb saying _Got eyes for him intcha always got your eyes on him why Teddy why what you looking at_ him _for_ , he really spat it out, _him_ , and I said, I said, _I’m looking at everyone, Ron._ Oh, there’s universities for people like me.

So. Face full of carpet and the left side of my head singing. No bugger batted an eyelid, course they didn’t. Same ear he’d hit he pulled me back up by and said _Off with these, then_ into. I nearly went down again twice in the process. I couldn’t help it, he knocks things loose in me does Ron. Shirt, trousers. I let ‘em drop. I wasn’t gonna hold ‘em like a fucking handbag. And he was already taking me, still by the ear, double-time over to the fireplace with all these old queens of the type Ron normally wouldn’t piss on sitting round it, one of ‘em gurgling _You can take the boy out of the Meat Rack, Ronnie, but you can’t_ –

 _I’ll give it a try though_ , Ron said. Took his cufflinks off.

Anyway. Now Boothby grabs hold of my thighs round the front, drawing himself deeper into the trough. Kissing my arse, the lucky bastard, probably gulping down a bit of Ron into the bargain and maybe that was the plan from the start –

Speaking of plan I start to worry about his face not being visible but it’s ok, looking back, he’s crystal clear from the nose up. His eyes are smiling. He raises an eyebrow at me. Redoubles his efforts.

And Christ, I thought if I ever really, I mean _really_ got it any more than halfway up for the old fart I’d cut it off on general principle, but the way he jabs and licks, the rough and smooth of it, the busy plucking of his lips, I’m as hard as I was when I was bent over the coffee table –

I drop onto my face. Grab hold of those coats. Camelhair in my mouth and all the noise of the party like it could be another planet. Some cunt’s put Lesley Gore on.

It gets loud. The music. So smoothly, it could just be someone turning the volume up. Leslie, course, who else could open a door that quiet. Leslie and Lesley, oh my fucking sides.

I think _the flash_ and _thank Christ I switched the light on_. Boothby remains otherwise engaged but I give Les a little nod. Start moaning too, as cover fire for the click click click. And because if I don’t make some sort of noise I’m gonna start laughing because – because I’ve got a titled tongue up the shitter, it’s a laugh innit –

And because it’s good.

Good enough to get me pulling my prick. Leslie’s face. I still think of Ron to get me over the finish line. Think of after he dropped the carpet beater. Me dead still and waiting to see if I was forgiven or what. Couldn’t see him without turning my head but I could see the smoke he was breathing out so I watched that for a while. Feeling funny. Like I could go to sleep or run up a wall.

He stubbed his cigar in the ashtray with a little shrieky noise and leant over me. Hanky in hand. Weirdly gentle.

 _Ron?_ I said, a bit pathetic.

Ron looked up. Cast an eye over his party, then back over me, like something he was checking the cut of.

 _Sling your hook then,_ he said. The titchiest smile. _See what you get on the end of it._


End file.
